


Gold Gift of Atonement, Golden Gift of Love

by HallsofStone2941



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Apologies, Courtship, Cultural Differences, I do love cultural differences, M/M, Misunderstandings, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gift of a Golden Lily means different things in Hobbit and Dwarf cultures; undoubtedly only one of many misunderstandings on the quest for Erebor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold Gift of Atonement, Golden Gift of Love

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing new to add to this story (sorry, folks) - instead there's a drawing I did at the bottom and I cleaned up some of the verb tense errors

_When Arda was first made, and Aulë crafted the Dwarves, he sought the woods of his wife’s gardens to feed the fires of their forges. Yavanna was less than pleased that her husband’s children would destroy her trees, and so went to Manwë and sought protection for her forests, which came in the form of the Shepherds. Still Aulë claimed his Dwarves would need her wood, and Yavanna silently fumed._

_After much time had passed, silence remained between the Craftsman and his Wife, and eventually the Maker sought to ease Yavanna’s anger. From his forge he crafted a flower, the design of which Yavanna had described to him many moons ago, for flowers were yet to exist in the World. Its stem was made of solid gold, as were its stamens and pistil; the six triangular petals were of a shimmery off-white, the color of cream pearls._

_Aulë then presented this metal lily to Yavanna. “If you so desire,” said he, uncertain if his gift would be accepted, “You need only give it life, and this flower, and others after in its image, will grow as one of your own creations, and spread across the World wherever the winds may take them.” And so Yavanna breathed onto the lily, granting it the ability to grow, as all plants do; and evermore did these lilies grow in the World to remind Yavanna, in her bouts of anger, of her husband’s everlasting love._

* * *

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield arise the day after their descent from the Carrock and unanimously agree not to move until the next morning. Thus saying, each member soon finds other means to occupy themselves. Many decide to wash the worst of the blood, sweat, dirt, and other repulsive grime off their clothes and their persons in the river that, according to Gandalf, becomes Anduin the Great farther south. The Grey Wizard is currently sitting against a log just on the border of their campsite, happily puffing away at his pipe, and looking as if he will be doing so for quite some time. Fili and Kili have taken it upon themselves to hunt for something suitable for fifteen people starved of a decent meal. Bofur and Bifur are carving bowls and spoons out of a tree they had felled, and Oin and Bombur are in the woods looking for herbs and spices for healing and food, respectively. Dwalin is cleaning and sharpening his axes, Balin appears to be napping, and Bilbo has taken it upon himself to fix his (irreparably) ruined waistcoat.

The clod of boots to his left alerts the Hobbit to the presence of one of the Dwarves. Though none are particularly quiet (however much they might like to believe it), some are able to stifle noise better than others. Fili and Kili, Bilbo rations, would be chattering as they walk; this newcomer is silent. The river is off in the other direction, which negates any bathers, and neither Oin nor Bombur could make so little noise. This leaves Thorin, whom Bilbo had seen wander away in the woods some time ago. Having successfully deduced the newcomer, Bilbo does not bother to look up from his inspection ( _ruined beyond repair, probably_ , he thinks sadly, but that does not mean he will not try) – at least, until Thorin stops in front of him.

“Burgla—Master Baggins,” Thorin stutters, clearly making an effort to be polite. Bilbo rises (because looking up at the Dwarf King hurts his neck) and waits, uncertain as to why Thorin is standing before him – and looking somewhat…apprehensive, of all things.

“I know my actions towards you have been abominable, until recently,” _Very_ recently, Bilbo does not point out. “And I wish to formally express my apologies towards you, for doubting you, and disregarding you. Though my doubts may have been accurate, and perhaps well-reasoned, my mistreatment of you was quite unacceptable. I, Thorin, son of Thrain, Oakenshield offer this to you, and hope that you will accept it as recompense for my actions.” Thorin withdraws from his coat a Golden Lily, which he must have spent all the afternoon seeking, for they are rare in these parts. The stem is golden, the white petals glow in the sunlight, yet they are warm and grow, like all other plants.

Bilbo looks at the lily, then back at Thorin, and back at the lily. His hand reaches out, as if to touch it, but he hesitates, and then, to the Dwarf King’s shock, faints clean away.

* * *

When Bilbo awakes, it is to the sight of a looped grey beard attached to a weathered face.

“Is he alright?” Ori asks, peering worriedly over Dori’s shoulder, hair wet and unbraided from his recent bath. Looking around, Bilbo can see the rest of the Company in varying states of alarm, all looking at him. Even Dwalin has his focus unusually trained on the Hobbit, and Thorin is hovering behind Oin, a look of concern and confusion marring his face as he watches the healer’s work. Remembering the events that led up to his state of unconsciousness, Bilbo sits up abruptly, ignoring Oin’s protests and maneuvering his legs into a more comfortable position.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo states. The Dwarves do not look convinced.

“Laddie, ye fainted dead away,” Balin says, brow knitted.

“I just, um,” Bilbo doesn’t know what to say, thankfully Gandalf (who appears to be enjoying himself far too much, in the Hobbit’s opinion) convinces the Company that Bilbo will be fine. Left alone while the others resumed their activities, Bilbo returns to the log he had been sitting on before Thorin came to him.

Thorin…at that thought, Bilbo rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands, staring into the circle of ash that was once their fire. Soon, he sees, out of the corner of his eye, blue movement as Thorin sits next to him.

“I did not know you would have such a…dramatic reaction,” Thorin states, his eyes focused on the same spot as Bilbo’s.

“I’ll be alright, I just need to sit quietly for a moment,” Bilbo responds, focusing on his breathing.

Thorin seems to accept this and waits for some moments, but then speaks again.

“Do you…accept?” He sounds more uncertain Bilbo has ever heard (though when has Thorin Oakenshield ever sounded uncertain?). Despite this vulnerability, Bilbo cannot consider Thorin’s feelings in the face of his question.

“Do I—the nerve! I cannot just give you an answer, Thorin Oakenshield! I must think on this matter before I can even consider accepting!” Bilbo was thoroughly shocked now, and flustered, and wishing for all the world he had not lost his pipe and Old Toby. Again, Thorin is silent for a few minutes.

“I did not realize Halflings considered deeply an apology made to them – that is, I did not think you held grudges, or _considered_ offering forgiveness when such atonement has been offered to you,” he finally murmurs gently, eyes still fixed on the dead ash.

“Apology—what are you? Oh.

“Oh. I see. I fear there has been a misunderstanding, Master Oakenshield, which I suppose was bound to happen given the many differences between our cultures. Yes, of course I accept your apology. You are absolutely correct in that few Hobbits hold grudges, and those that do are not deemed respectable.

“You see, Master Dwarf, while it appears the giving of this flower,” here Bilbo fingers the petals of the lily, which had been left next to his seat, “means an apology to you Dwarves, it is quite different for us Hobbits.” At Thorin’s inquisitive gaze, Bilbo continues, embarrassment slightly halting his words.

“The giving of the Golden Lily is done by a suitor seeking to court the receiver, in my culture.” Bilbo coughs self-consciously. “So you see, Thorin, when you offered me this, I thought you were asking for something far beyond a simple apology. I should, of course, have not assumed, and asked instead.”

There is a slight thump in the silence that follows, then Bilbo sighs. “Master Balin? Master Dwalin? Can you help me? Thorin fainted.”

* * *

When Thorin wakes, there is no healer hovering over him, nor anyone, as far as he can tell. Propping himself up on his elbows, the Dwarf sees that the area around the campfire has the same number of Dwarves in the same positions as before. Dwalin catches his eye, though, and from the smirk, Thorin knows the bald warrior will never let him live this down.

Bilbo is sitting next to him, looking far calmer than Thorin last saw him. He is smoking a pipe – one of Bofur’s creations, Thorin realizes – and seems content. Sitting up the rest of the way and returning to his place on the log catches the Hobbit’s attention, and Bilbo’s eyes twinkle with amusement when Thorin looks at him, a smile curving around the pipe.

After Thorin is settled, he considers the conversation before his, err, _incident_. One phrase catches his thoughts, and he draws himself up short.

“You said you had to consider my proposal,” Thorin states, suddenly suspicious.

“It is impolite to outright refuse a Lily,” Bilbo explains. “Normally some time passes between the offer and the acceptance, if it comes to that. The receiver may take time, either to find their courting gift, usually a family heirloom, or to come up with a reasonable reason not to accept the courting.”

“You can’t just say you don’t want to?” Ori asks, shuffling closer, notebook clutched in his hand.

“That reason alone is not enough – if it comes to that, a trial period of sorts, lasting about a month, happens, and if their feelings have not changed, the courtship ends.

“Some reasons could be ‘lack of funding’ or simply ‘bad timing’, such as if following the death of a family member. Such reasons indicate a desire to court, leaving an open invitation for later on down the road. More to-the-point and less ambiguous reasons could be ‘belief of insincere affections’ – if the suitor was after money, for example – or, in some cases, ‘already courting or married’. Another, more rude and blunt, is ‘I have no desire to call your kin mine’, basically saying the suitor’s status is beneath their own.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” Ori asks.

“I have had many suitors in my life, all of which I have turned down, most for the same reason; ‘insincere affections’.”

Ori’s brow furrows, and Bilbo is aware that most of the Company is listening to the exchange. “How come?”

“It may not have been obvious to you, but for Hobbits I am very well-to-do. Being both head of the Baggins family, and nephew to the Thain, and owning a large smial perfect for a family, in one of the better parts of the Shire, and being perfectly respectable – well, I _was_ – these are all very desirable traits in a mate, and have garnered the attentions of both lads and lasses. None of them, unfortunately, were sincere.” Turning to Thorin, he said, “my claim to you, had I not been informed of your true intent, would have probably run along the lines of ‘not befitting a king in station’ and ‘on a quest which requires all focus and having an unknown end’, though the last might have indicated I would be open to courting once this whole adventure was over.” He shrugs, “it is good, I think, it did not come to that.”

“Is it important that you’re head of the Baggins family?” Ori scrunches up his nose, as if he is not certain what it means.

“The heads of the families – clans, they really are – are of a higher respectability; perhaps, in Dwarfish terms, of nobility, than the rest of the Shire. We are turned to more often to settle bigger disputes, and are seen as role models for fauntlings and wayward Hobbits. The Took family, whose head is the Thain, holds the most power. Though we have a mayor that runs day-to-day government, in the concerns of the outer world and in unusual crises, we turn to the Thain. Woe betide any Mayor that goes against the wish of the Thain, and no decision of greater concerns may be made without his presence.

Fili frowns in consideration. “If you’re the nephew of the Thain, who’s the highest authority: that would make you in a similar position to Kili and me.”

“Master Boggins, you’re a prince!” Kili shouts excitedly. Bilbo chuckles and shakes his head.

“We have no kings or princes, nor any need of them. If you wish to think of me as such, I suppose, in a way, you are right, though little does it matter in the real world.”

“It seems, Master Baggins, that I have wronged you many times over,” Thorin rumbles. “And it would also seem your claim of ‘lowered station’ no longer holds any ground.”

“Now, now,” Bilbo says matter-of-factly. “Keep on like that and I’ll think you mean to court me!”

* * *

It is in Lake-town, after Bilbo gets over his cold, that Thorin presents him with another Golden Lily.

“Should I be concerned? I do not recall you doing anything that needs apologizing.” Bilbo jokes, quite pleased now that his nose is no longer stuffed with cotton.

“I did not have Dwarfish customs in mind when I sought this for you,” Thorin replies, piercing the Hobbit with his gaze. After a few moments in which Bilbo’s eyes widen in understanding, Thorin adds, “I know you need time to decide. I will leave you—”

“No, no, now wait a minute,” Bilbo says, fumbling with something on his neck. Finally he pulls out a simple chain, on which a carved wooden pendant hangs. “Here,” he says, handing it to Thorin, “it bears the Baggins family crest on it, and has been passed down for generations.” Thorin takes the chain, studying it, while Bilbo shyly presses his face to the lily, smelling it. Thorin’s face breaks out into a smile, and he reaches up to unclasp one of the many beads in his hair.

“It is Dwarfish custom for a suitor to braid a bead bearing their family crest into the hair of their intended. May I?”

“Of course,” Bilbo responds primly, turning so that Thorin may place the courting braid in his hair. Once the Dwarf King his done, he turns his Hobbit around and catches him on the lips, and neither say anything for a while.

* * *

By the time Bilbo dies, he has received enough Golden Lilies to make a bouquet a dozen times over. Thorin, too, has a small handful of the beautiful flowers, which he keeps on his side of the bed to remind him that he is not _always_ the one who messes up in the relationship.

Yet neither Dwarf nor Hobbit can complain that, whenever Thorin acts churlishly during a meeting with the Elves, the King can often be found at night, naked on their bed with a Lily between his teeth, eagerly waiting for his Consort to come home.

**Author's Note:**

> The first paragraph summarizes a section from the Silmarillion, where Yavanna asks Manwe for a way to guard her forests against the Dwarves and he gives her the Ents.
> 
> Also, I am hoping to find a beta for a multi-chapter story I have stored away - if you know anyone or would like to proofread yourself, please let me know :)
> 
> Very, very late edit: the flower is what I envisioned when I first wrote this fic, and I finally got the software to make it (though in my head it looks a little more metallic and a little less organic)


End file.
